An Ocean Apart

by Robin Pilcher

  David nodded. “Yeah, that’s it.”

  “Can we put it on?”

  “Don’t see why not—as long as we play it quietly.” Reaching forward, he pressed the on/off button and pushed the present cassette into the player. As the fadeout of Martha Reeves and the Vandellas hissed through the speakers, David watched Toby steer a ball off the edge of his bat for two runs.

  “Come on, you fluky bastard,” he said under his breath, “one more like that and you’ve got your fifty!”

  As Rachel was tilting back another measure of champagne into her mouth, the muted, mellow guitar introduction filled every corner of the car. She suddenly sat upright, her body taut as she waited to hear the next bar. The instrumental gave way to the close harmony of the backing vocalists.

  “Oh my God! It is! It’s Smokey Robinson and the Miracles!” She reached forward and turned the volume button full on. “Oh, David, this just has to be the most beautiful, sexy song that has ever been written!”

  The sound of the music was deafening within the small confines of the car, and instinctively David put his hand forward to turn it down, realizing that it could be no doubt heard by the players on all five of the cricket pitches.

  “I think that that’s just a bit lou——”

  “Oh, please don’t touch it!” Rachel said, reaching out and catching his hand to stop him. “Oh, David, this is just too fantastic for words!” She pushed open the door and jumped out, leaving it wide open.

  “What are you doing?” he laughed.

  But Rachel never answered him. Taking another drink from the bottle, she kicked out each foot to rid herself of her shoes and began dancing on the grass, moving slowly but steadily away from the car towards the sight-screen. David watched her for a moment, then dragged his attention back to Toby, who by this time was becoming increasingly agitated at the speed of the bowling. It was then that it suddenly dawned on him what was about to happen.

  “Oooooh, hell’s teeth!” he exclaimed out loud. He threw open his door and leaped out. “Rachel, you can’t—”

  He didn’t go any further. Suddenly the visual impact of the cricket game became a stark and uninteresting antithesis to the spectacle that he was now witnessing. He swallowed hard as he watched Rachel gradually approach the sight-screen, her movements liquid as she danced, her rhythm perfect, her body picking up every sensuous particle of the song, and he found himself transfixed by the combination of the words, the music, her beauty and her motion. She turned, mouthing the words of the song directly at him, using the bottle as a makeshift microphone, “So take a good look at my face, can’t you see the smi-ile, it’s out of place,” then again turned away from him, moving farther into the danger zone, gently swinging her hips and hands in complete symmetry and unison with the song.

  A shout from the cricket pitch broke David’s trance. He turned to look towards Toby’s game. Everyone was gawking in their direction—all except Toby, who stood at the crease, waving his hand and yelling something at him.

  “What?” David called back.

  “I — said — get — her — away — from — the — bloody — sight-screen,” Toby called out at the top of his voice. “She’s—a—bloody—distraction!”

  “You can say that again,” David said to himself, and held up his hand in apology. He ran over to Rachel, who was now dancing directly in front of the huge white board.

  “I think you’d better move,” he said. “You’re right behind the bowler’s arm.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m miles away from him,” she replied, continuing to dance, her voice now slightly fuzzy from the effects of the champagne.

  David swept back his hair and scratched at the back of his neck. “Listen, I don’t think we’re going to be very popular with Toby.”

  Rachel said nothing but smiled wickedly at him.

  “Come on, are you going to move, or am I going to have to carry you?”

  Her reply was immediate. “All right.”

  David shook his head. “Oh, hell’s teeth!” he said under his breath as he walked up to her. Putting one hand behind her back and the other under her knees, he picked her up off her feet, and as he half-walked, half-ran towards the car, Rachel linked her arms around his neck.

  The whole episode had a dramatic effect on Toby. He was finding it hard enough to deal with the pace of this new bowler without the distraction of a sudden burst of music and the appearance of a girl in front of the sight-screen. As he held his hand up to signal his state of unreadiness to the bowler, he recognized David’s car, and realized immediately that this was the girl who had given him such a hard time in the pub. It was, to Toby, an ill-fated omen. As David carried the girl away, he took up his stance once more, but when the umpire dropped his arm and allowed the bowler to start his run, his eyes were distracted from their normal line of concentration to watch David and the girl move towards the car. He never saw the ball. He only heard the thump and clink as it cart-wheeled his middle stump out of the ground and knocked the bails clean over the wicket-keeper’s head. The fielding side erupted in delight and ran to the bowler, slapping his hands and patting him on the back in congratulations.

  As soon as they reached the car, David dropped Rachel onto her feet and dived inside to switch off the stereo. When he reappeared, she was looking out towards the cricket game.

  “Toby seems to be walking off the pitch. Does that mean he’s out or in?”

  David glanced over to the score-board in time to see the number 49 taken off the main display and relegated to the “Last Man” position, then turned back to view the dejected figure of Toby as he slumped his way back to the pavilion, slamming his bat into the ground as he went. David looked across at Rachel, who was biting at her lip, a cringe of embarrassment on her face.

  “Oops, was that my fault?” she asked quietly.

  David laughed. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Anyway, I think he probably more than deserves it, don’t you?” As Toby reached the steps of the pavilion, he turned to glare in their direction. David hastily opened the door of the car. “Nevertheless, I think the best thing we could do right now is get the hell out of here.”

  Rachel seemed to heed the suggestion immediately, but instead of climbing in, she reached over to the back seat and retrieved her book. She straightened up and stood directly in front of him, looking up at him. “I’ll think I’ll walk from here,” she said.

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I know, but I need to clear my head. That champagne has just made me feel like going to sleep.”

  “Well, why don’t you?”

  “Because I have a mountain of work to get through this weekend, and because of today’s … well … circumstances, I haven’t even started.” She clutched the book in her crossed arms and looked down at her feet. “But anyway, it was lovely to meet you—and thanks for the champagne. It was delicious.”

  She suddenly reached up and gave him a light kiss on the cheek, then turned away and walked off towards the gates of the cricket park.

  “Do you want to meet for a drink sometime?” he called after her.

  Rachel turned and smiled. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’ve only got a month before my finals, and I really don’t want any distractions.”

  “I wouldn’t be a distraction.”

  “I think you would.”

  “Well … er … what about after the finals?” David asked, desperate to prise even the faintest hope of commitment out of her. A thought came into his head. “I tell you what. Christchurch have a Commem Ball this year. Would you come with me?”

  “When is it?”

  “The twenty-third of June.”

  Rachel thought for a moment and nodded slowly. “All right, I’ll come, but only on one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You wear your kilt.”

  “Okay.”

  Rachel swung herself gently from side to side, “AND you
bring your car and Smokey Robinson with you.”

  “That’s two conditions.”

  Rachel smiled at him. “Well, that’s the deal.”

  “Okay. Sounds good enough to me!”

  Chapter FIVE

  Effie pattered her way across the hall to the drawing-room door, knocked quietly, and popped her head around the corner. There was no conversation in progress, only the sound of the fire crackling in the hearth and the contented snoring of one of the dogs lying out in front of it. Lord and Lady Inchelvie sat opposite each other at the far end of the room, he snoozing gently in his large, threadbare armchair, a glass of whisky precariously balanced on one of its sunken arms beside him, while she, clicking away with her knitting-needles, watched the muted screen of the television.

  “Excuse me, Lady Inchelvie,” Effie said, almost in a whisper.

  Alicia turned and dipped her head to look over the top of her spectacles at the little grey-haired head that peered round the door at about the same level as the handle. “Yes, Effie?”

  “That’s the dinner through in the dining-room now.”

  Alicia bundled up the knitting and placed it on the table beside her, then rose from her chair. “Thank you, Effie. I’m afraid that we’re still waiting for David. I don’t quite know what he’s up to. I called up the stairs about a quarter of an hour ago, but he obviously didn’t hear me. I think I’d better just nip up to his room to see if everything’s all right.”

  “Och, don’t you bother yourself about that,” Effie said, appearing in full around the door. “I’m just away upstairs now to turn down the beds, so I’ll give him a wee knock on his door.” She looked across at Lord Inchelvie and smiled. “That’ll give you time to wake up his Lordship.”

  “Oh, Effie, could you? That would be most kind.” Alicia glanced over towards her husband. “I’m afraid the poor man’s had a pretty tiring day at the office.”

  Effie paused for a moment. “Everything’s all right, is it not, Lady Inchelvie?” she asked tentatively.

  “Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, it was just that I was hoping that his Lordship was feeling quite well, what wi’ him not going to the meeting tonight.”

  “No, nothing to worry about, Effie. Just something quite important has cropped up which he has to discuss with David over dinner.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear it, then.” She gave a quick smile in the direction of Lord Inchelvie and then waved her index finger in the air, as if conducting herself back into action. “Now I’ll just away and see where Mr. David has got to.”

  Effie closed the door of the drawing-room and made her way to the staircase and, readying herself for the ascent by placing one hand on the banister and the other on her left knee for extra leverage, she began to climb the stairs, gently humming to herself as she went. Having made the half-way landing, she stopped long enough to catch her breath and to make a mental note to remove an over-conspicuous cobweb that floated high up on the large dark portrait that loomed above her before continuing on her way.

  The door of the bathroom was open wide and the light off, but the steamy air that emanated from within still carried on it the smell of soap and after-shave. She hesitated, wondering whether she was a little premature in knocking on David’s door. Her fist was about to come into contact with it when it flew open and David emerged, unaware of Effie’s presence on the landing. They both started back in surprise.

  “Oh, I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. David,” Effie said breathlessly. “It was just that your mother and father have gone through to the dining-room, and they were wondering if everything was all right with you.”

  David, dressed in a clean pair of jeans, an open-necked shirt and bedroom slippers, smiled lightly down at her. “I’m sorry, Effie. I dozed off in the bath. I’m heading down now.”

  “That’s fine, then.” She stood there uneasily, her hands clasped together in front of her apron. “Well, I’ll just away and turn down the beds.”

  David closed the door behind him as Effie scuttled off around the balconied landing. He walked to the top of the stairs and stopped, looking across the high divide of the hallway to the other side of the balcony where she was just about to enter his parents’ bedroom.

  “I’m afraid that I kept Jock out in pretty horrible conditions today. I hope he’s not suffering any ill effects?”

  Effie turned, her face briefly registering a look of surprise at David’s concern over her husband before it broke into a smile. “Och, he’s fine, Mr. David. He aye moans a bit when he’s working out in the rain, but then again, he does the same when the sun shines. Jock has never been able to extract much pleasure from the weather, I’m afraid.” She let out an affectionate sigh. “That said, you’d have a hard task keeping him away from the garden, whatever the weather!”

  David did not reply, but simply nodded and smiled. He turned and took the stairs two at a time, his slippered feet creating loud flat echoes in the hallway as he descended. He crossed over to the dining-room and entered, and his parents, already seated at the top end of the large polished table, both looked up towards him.

  “Sorry about that,” he said, nodding a silent greeting to his father. “I fell asleep in the bath.”

  “Not surprising,” Alicia said, getting up from her chair and walking over to the sideboard. She began to ladle a savoury-smelling stew onto a plate. “You must be exhausted after working out there in that dreadful weather.”

  George put his knife and fork down on his plate and sat back in his chair, chomping on his mouthful and pointing over to the far corner of the sideboard. “I brought the whisky through from the drawing-room for you, my boy, so help yourself to one.”

  “Thanks. I will.”

  He poured himself a sizeable whisky and added as much water to it again before sitting down at the table. While he settled in his place, his mother hovered at his side before placing the steaming plate of food in front of him. “There, that should be restorative.”

  “Thanks,” David mumbled quietly, pulling his napkin from its ring and laying it on his lap.

  Alicia returned to her seat and continued her meal. Over the past months, she had come to dread their dinners together, every night the mood of the whole proceedings being orchestrated by David’s sombre and silent presence. Previously, it had been the time of day that both George and she had enjoyed the most, sitting quietly together uninterrupted, talking about their respective days and making plans for future ones. Now, if there was any conversation at all, it was still mostly between George and herself, but it was inevitably an exchange of words that sounded as thin and as falsely happy as a Linguaphone lesson. She knew that George understood this, and both came to prefer an uneasy silence to their chirrupy sentences, the three of them sitting together as if observing some monastic vow of quiescence, the high-vaulted ceiling of the dining-room amplifying the irritating sound of cutlery scraping against plate.

  But she knew that tonight had to be different. In the drawing-room beforehand, George had told her of his meeting with Duncan Caple, and she knew that sometime during the meal the subject of the States would have to be broached. She therefore gave a small involuntary shudder of trepidation when she saw George put down his whisky glass and turn toward David.

  “How are you getting on in the garden?”

  The sudden break in the silence took David by surprise. He took a drink of whisky and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Getting there,” he said, his voice sounding croaky through lack of use. He cleared his throat. “I reckon that we’ll have finished the whole thing by this time next week.”

  “Well, I think it looks pretty wonderful. You and Jock have really done a terrific job. I never thought that we would see the day when the garden would be restored to its former glory.”

  He took another mouthful of food, and silence once again fell over the proceedings, all three continuing their meal without looking at the others. David put down his knife and fork and turned to his fath
er. “I thought that I might have a look at that bit of rough ground down by the loch next and see if I can’t come up with a plan for that.”

  Lord Inchelvie stopped chewing and looked across at his wife. She was caught with her fork in her mouth, her eyes anxiously darting back and forth between her husband and her son. David picked up on the exchange.

  “Is something wrong?”

  His father sighed deeply and sat back in his chair, resting his elbows on its carved arms and linking the fingers of both hands together on his lap. His brow was furrowed deeper than usual, the loose skin on his thick neck creating a series of double chins as he looked down at his hands. He began to flick at one thumb-nail with the other.

  “Well, in a word, my boy, yes.”

  A worried look came over David’s face. “What is it?”

  George Inchelvie looked back at his wife, who gave him the lightest of nods. “Well,” he said, slowly, trying to pick his words carefully, “we have a slight problem in the marketing department at the distillery.”

  David paused for a moment, glancing back and forth between his parents. “Duncan should be able to sort it out, shouldn’t he? That’s what he’s there for.”

  “Well, it’s a little bit more complicated than that,” his father continued. “There is only so much that Duncan can do, and he’s finding himself a little short of human resources at the moment.” He looked over at his son, realizing that he’d better just come out with it. “Listen, David, I know that you find it hard right now to give much thought to work.” He paused for a moment. “But the fact is that we have this problem which I don’t think we are going to be able to solve … well … without involving you.” He watched as his son let out a deep sigh and began scratching at the back of his neck with both hands. “Duncan brought it to my attention today that our sales have slipped dramatically in the States. He was quite blunt about the fact that he wants to hold an extraordinary board meeting within the next few days so that we can appoint a new distributor over there as soon as possible.”

  George glanced over to his wife, who smiled reassuringly at him.